Writing
I write love letters to damage and small mercies. Harlem is the setting and the temperature; the river keeps the beat. My poems are barroom gospel and alleyway confession, stitched from last-call light, cheap holiness, and the kind of tenderness that leaves a mark.
Themes
The work circles love and its aftermath; guilt, appetite, and the uneasy truce between violence and care. It keeps company with ghosts—personal, civic, historical—and treats the city as a living witness: bodegas at dawn, the cracked-glass beauty of a jukebox, the river washing what it can. Faith shows up bruised and blasphemous; saints spill their drinks; the devil hitches a ride. There are road-movie fragments and end-of-the-world hush, unreliable memories that tell the truth sideways, and a stubborn hope that refuses to sound pretty.
Style
Long, breath-heavy lines broken by short jabs. Plainspoken images that smolder. Refrains like a chorus you can shout from the back of the room. Narrative threads cut with lyric shards; humor that lands with a wince; music you can hear without a mic. Recurring talismans—river, birds, glass, pistols, motorcycles, rain on hot pavement—keep the pieces in orbit. On the page, it's clean and direct; on stage, it moves like a low flame.
Books
Love & Murder — full-length collection (released)
A book of gin-sour love songs and testimony. Lovers as accomplices, tenderness as a weapon, Harlem as the one place that tells the truth back. No tidy redemption arcs—only the courage to keep speaking when the room goes quiet.
Harlem River Hymns — chapbook (released)
Hymns for anyone who needed the river to carry a sin a little farther downstream. Spare, musical, road-bitten pieces that feel like prayers said under a streetlight and answered by the water.
All the Ghosts of Harlem — chapbook (released)
A roll call of absences and the stubborn beauty that stays. Memory, addiction, and grace share a table; the city keeps pouring. Equal parts ache and grin.
My Name Is Vincent — verse sequence / noir confession (work in progress)
A first-person reckoning from a man who calls himself the first sinner. Western-noir cadence, ballad bones, a love story gone feral. Eleven confessions, one bullet left, and a voice that can't stop telling on itself.
After Life — post-apocalyptic cycle (work in progress)
The birds stop singing. The road fills with dust and motorcycles. Found-family tenderness meets end-times silence; survival talks softly, grief drives. A soft apocalypse told in small, stubborn lights.
The Book of Drunken Saints — litany & field guide (work in progress)
A barroom bestiary of saints and sinners. God drinks whiskey, the devil drinks rum, and the holiest act is showing up again tomorrow. Liturgy for the lost, written on napkins and prayed at closing time.